She yawned and looked at the phone. Surely Ryan hadn’t shot the guy. Her eyes eased closed and then she jerked them open again. She couldn’t rest without finding out for certain. One phone call and she would know if Shope was still alive. Grudgingly she picked up the cordless and dialed the station.
“Lawrenceton Police Department. How many I help you?” A young man answered the phone.
“Is Officer Smythe there?”
“One moment and I’ll check.”
A terrible mix of digitalized music filled her ear. She wished they’d update to something from this century. The strange synthetic mix did nothing to make her feel better or like holding.
“Smythe here.”
“How’s my favorite police officer?” She loved teasing Noah Smythe. He was a few years older than Deirdre and one of the few officers in town who had a chance at besting her in a fair fight. Not that she ever wanted to fight with him, a face that pretty should be kept scar free.
“I knew you’d call once the report aired.” He groaned and Deirdre knew there had been trouble. “Quite a mess here on the night shift. Everybody’s talking about it.”
She let out a long breath. “So it’s true?”
“Fraid so. Ryan had no choice but to drop him during an escape attempt. Guy was found face down, armed, after trying to flee down an alley not far from the restaurant. Ryan did the only thing he could on this one.”
“Damn.” Farmer had done it again. “I can’t believe it.”
That was not the information she wanted to hear. A death, even of a crazed man, made her guts knot. It figured that the incident would happen on Ryan Farmer’s shift. Shope should’ve never been given an opportunity to escape. His hands were cuffed. There was another officer. Shope should’ve gone to the station easily.
“Deirdre, why didn’t you call me on my cell phone?”
She knew why she had used the station’s number, to keep this business only. Noah had been asking her out for the last year. Two weeks ago, she’d given in and agreed to a date. It had been nice, maybe wonderful, but there was no room in her life for romance. There wasn’t anything wrong with Noah. He was handsome, charming, and knew all the right things to say. She couldn’t connect with him though. It was her fault. During her unique education, she’d never been given the tools for proper social interaction or maybe he was too good for her. Either way, whenever he touched her hand, she always pulled back.
“I guess I lost the number.” Not exactly the truth. She was sure the number was upstairs, someplace. There was no reason to find it though.
“Okay. If that’s your story.” Noah sounded disappointed. She hated doing that to him. He looked like a guy that should be married with two kids and a mini van. All the neighbors’ wives would flirt while he stayed faithful to some perfect lady who spent her time baking, not running security for glitzy clientele.
There was no reason to torture herself. She didn’t expect things in her life to change, and frankly, really didn’t want them to. If she found Mr. Right, then he’d better like her high heels, leather pants, and occupation. Of course she knew she was kidding herself again. Deep inside, she was afraid that there was nothing there. She was a shell, a half person. The vibrant woman she might’ve become died years ago at Stone House. Noah didn’t deserve that. He deserved something far better.
She tried to focus and realized that they’d been quiet for too long. This call wasn’t about dates or anything social. She wanted to find out what happened to the target after he’d reached police custody.
“Noah, how did Shope get out of his cuffs? He couldn’t very well pose a threat, even with a gun, while his hands were cuffed behind his back.” Much less go tearing through an alley.
“Cuffs? Ryan said that you’d hurt his wrist and they couldn’t cuff him properly.”
Her jaw clenched. Detective Ryan Farmer had some serious explaining to do. She didn’t send men off with the boys in blue to have their brains blown out over something stupid. Her job was protection, only protection. People, even the bad guys, weren’t supposed to die.
“Thanks Noah. I’ve got to go.”
“What’s wrong?”
At first she didn’t want to tell him. Smythe had acted like her friend, tried to date her, but he was a cop first. Anything she said could ruin their friendship, if their date hadn’t already done that. He deserved an answer though. “Shope was never seriously injured and when he left me, he was handcuffed.”
Farmer was at it again, blaming her for his mistakes. Questions remained, why did Farmer take Shope’s cuffs off? Whose gun did he get?
“Are you sure?”
“I’m willing to bet Tech caught it on video.” She stopped, knowing it would be best to end this conversation now. “Thanks for talking to me. I’ve got to go. Goodnight Noah.” She hung up the phone. This wasn’t the time to argue the finer points of his department. As far as she knew, Noah was a wonderful officer. It was naïve of him to believe all of the staff had his priorities.
There was nothing she could do about it tonight. Walking toward the gray tiled stairs up to her bedroom, she began to shed her clothes. She dropped her shirt on the floor just outside the living room, her bra followed, landing on a step, and her pants fell outside the bedroom door. By the time she entered the room she was naked and grateful to be sliding between the soft cotton sheets.
Farmer was out to get her. She only hoped he hadn’t killed a man to do it. She also had to wonder what he really knew about Stone House. He couldn’t know much. She didn’t know of any survivors beside herself.
Stone House. The very sound of the words haunted her.
She’d lived in Stone House when the fire happened. It was called Stone House for the eighteen-inch-thick stone walls that made up the four-story structure. Rumor claimed that it was an old monastery. She doubted it. That edifice, although steeped in a religion, was always used as training grounds and nothing about the occupants’ dogma included a Christian doctrine.
Deirdre shivered when she thought about the plain board bed with its thin mat and thinner blanket. They’d never even given her a pillow. Everything was kept to a bare minimum. She was permitted two changes of clothes, one pair of shoes, and all the weapons she could master, just like her mother.
“Mom,” she whispered into her pillow as fatigue gave into a thick sleep. “The fire talks to me, Momma. It talks, Scorpion.” Her mother’s name had been Aidena and Stone House had killed her.
Chapter Three
The bedside phone rang until Deirdre could stand it no longer. Hatefully, she jerked up the receiver, wishing whoever it was had left a message instead of calling repeatedly. Nothing could be that important.
“What?” She kept her eyes closed as she answered, not wanting to see daylight yet. “Talk.”
When the person hesitated to speak she nearly hung up, turned off the ringer, and went back to sleep. Everyone who called her knew, or soon learned, that she was not a morning person. That meant whoever rang her line was either sadistic or an unknowing idiot.
“Hello Deirdre.” When she heard Ryan Farmer’s voice, she knew the answer was sadistic.
“What?” She didn’t want to go through this and nearly hung up, then she thought about Shope. Part of her hoped for an apology or an explanation for the death of a man who should be speaking to a lawyer now instead of being parked in the city morgue.
“Ready to talk about Stone House?” His words were teasing, trying to torture her or pull out more information. He couldn’t know much.
“Go fuck yourself.”
Deirdre hung up the phone. She cracked open her sleep-filled eyes to the early morning rays daring to enter her bedroom. Everything in the room seemed brighter, bouncing light off the blue walls in a glaring display. She felt dark though, black and crumbling, decaying from the inside out and nothing could change that.
Secrets couldn’t be buried forever, no matter how many times she prayed that they could. She wasn’t sure what wa
s left of the structure or what links it had to her. Something had to exist for Farmer to be so smug.
She flopped back against her pillow but sleep wouldn’t return to her. She tossed, covered her head, but every time she shut her eyes Ryan Farmer or Stone House would come back into her mind. It slid in like a whisper to annoy her when she tried to rest. The last thing she wanted to dream about was Farmer so she punched the pillow and sat up.
There was no point in lying in that comfortable spot while thoughts filled her mind to bursting. Certain things had to be dealt with and that included Farmer. She had been gentle with him, until now. If he were so curious about her past, then she would make him very involved with her life.
She picked up the phone by the bed and dialed Tech. His real name was Ramon but for some reason he found it an insult and would only answer to Tech. The handle suited him considering his world revolved around computers and gadgets Deirdre had no clue how to operate.
The first part of any gig was research. That was Tech’s department. Private matter or not, this would be dealt with like any other job. Ryan Farmer had become a target. It was time to see what hid in his closet and discover any useable advantages.
“Who the hell is this?”
Ahh, another morning person. “Deirdre. Got work for you and I need it ASAP.”
“Fuck. It’s too early for this shit.” He kept grumbling but she heard the shuffling of papers in the background. Tech was a grouchy cuss. He was one of those thin little computer nerds who wouldn’t stand a chance in a dark alley, but brilliant in all other aspects. He was invaluable in computer research and surveillance.
“I just love it when you keep a pad of paper by the bed,” she taunted, causing him to growl again. “I need information on a police officer. His name is Ryan Farmer. He works out of our local precinct and he’s causing me grief. Dig deep and make it fast.”
“Didn’t we see him last night?” Before she could answer, something thudded and he cursed again. “Do I get a bonus?”
“No. You get to keep your job.” Deirdre waited and heard more fussing. “And we both know how you love your job.”
“One day you’ll wake up and feel terrible about the way you treat me.” He let out a few more grumbles but his usual level of irritation had returned.
She could imagine his little blond head, hair bed wrecked, and his green eyes focusing on pen and paper. Deep inside, she was pretty sure he enjoyed being needed. On a few occasions she’d heard him talking to himself as if he pretended to be a secret agent or some such nonsense.
“I’ll get over it.” She laughed, unable to stop herself. “Thanks. If this weren’t important, I wouldn’t ask.”
“Sure. Call me later and I’ll tell you what I’ve found.”
She hung up the phone, feeling better that he was checking into Ryan. Tech might uncover something. He’d always come through in the past giving them the edge in unpredictable situations. The knowledge gained against their targets had saved their asses many times. She also knew that his hobby was hacking into government computers. As far as she knew, he never altered anything. It was game to see how far he could get.
As soon as she got something on Ryan, she could find out what really happened with Jack Shope. A man doesn’t escape police custody easily, or end up with a gun after being searched. The whole thing reeked and she didn’t like it when her tactics were called into question.
Deirdre picked up the phone again and dialed. “Tech,” she spoke before he could say anything. “While you’re at it. Check out a Lora Shope. See if there’s any connection with that Haas woman or Farmer.”
“What takes priority?”
She thought about it a moment. Lora Shope wasn’t a case, only a hunch. “Farmer. I’ve got to get him under control before this gets worse. He’s been researching me, now he’s fair game.”
After hanging up the phone, she got out of bed, stretching her unwilling body to life. Her next stop was the shower. She turned on the water, which took forever to run hot. Deirdre checked herself in the mirror, finding smeared eyeliner around her very dark brown eyes. Her brown hair framed her face causing her pale skin to look ghostly.
Only hot water would bring her out of a sleepy state. She showered quickly and dressed. She’d just got her black tank top tucked into her jeans when the phone started ringing again. Deirdre almost answered before she recognized the phone number. It was Farmer again. This time when the machine came on, he left a message.
“Deirdre Galiena Flye.” He always said her name like it was a curse, elongating each syllable. It was bits of family names scattered from Ireland and maybe in them was some sort of curse. Still, the way he spoke it bothered her. “You can’t avoid me forever. We need to talk. Call me before I make your life difficult. Your clients might get a better idea of who you really are.”
So the man had been reduced to making threats. She had always considered intimidation a sign of weakness. A person either acted or didn’t. To constantly warn an enemy was revealing. Now she had to figure out what he was really saying. Perhaps he had nothing but a name and hoped to trick her into a confession.
Her stomach grumbled loudly. She took a cold bottle of water out of the refrigerator along with eggs and sausage links. Most mornings she had cold cereal but today she craved protein. She cracked the eggs into a bowl and whipped them while the sausage sizzled.
Icy shivers seeped beneath her shirt, caused by her damp hair. Standing over the hot frying pan helped. As soon as breakfast was finished cooking, she wrapped a towel around her shoulders and ate.
Her meals were taken in front of the television, a marvel she discovered at the age of fourteen. The lighted box was amazing, at least she thought so then. At first she believed it held magic, some fancy power not even the leaders at Stone House could manage. Now, it was mostly noise but she welcomed any distraction from her thoughts. As for magic, well, she knew better.
After breakfast, she grabbed a change of clothes and headed to the gym. It was a five-day–a-week ritual. She usually found the rest of her crew there but today, thanks to Farmer, she was running a couple of hours ahead of schedule.
She pulled her red Viper out of her drive and onto the busy streets of Lawrenceton. The town had grown tremendously over the last few years. Several of the cities to the south had gained large Latino populations making the whites of the area scurry to escape the ever constant presence of the Spanish language and the change of the general culture.
Deirdre wished for a wider spectrum of ethnic groups in Lawrenceton. The place held little diversity. The landscape comprised the upper middle class with their two children, dog in the back, and the really wild ones also owned a cat. On the outskirts, the money lived in beach-front homes where privacy and security were a prime concern. The celebs vacationed here, looking for some hometown feel that wasn’t anyone’s hometown.
They all wanted something generic, safe, and like themselves. Their spice consisted of parties with other people just like them. They talked about their cars, their clothes, their jewelry, and rarely found topics of substance. Most were in the upper income levels with some being filthy rich. It seemed economic divides bothered them almost as much as ethnic ones.
Of course all races seemed to prefer to stay with people like them instead of mixing with others. She could only guess that was their way of protecting themselves. Things weren’t supposed to change. No one would be dangerous if they were alike.
On matters of race, religion, and politics, Deirdre never commented or argued. These things were rooted too deeply into a person to change an opinion through discussion. Deirdre was white, and raised with a mix of skin colors who all functioned with a singular frame of mind instilled by Stone House. She didn’t encounter stereotyping until she left the compound. In her childhood they weren’t even allowed to be people, much less identified by race.
Sabrine, her employee, had a different version of the world. She was the child of an African man and a white woman. The re
sult was a slight kink in her hair, a tan, and high cheekbones. She’d been educated on race, learning the hard way about ideas in the South.
Deirdre had never understood why Sabrine worked for her. Her father had a very successful company in Atlanta building computer systems for businesses that couldn’t use the generic software available. Instead of working for him, Sabrine had joined the Marines, doing two years and getting a four-year college education out of the deal. Her father had the money for school but he also raised her to be incredibly independent. That positive trait was Sabrine’s biggest flaw. She had never been much of a team player, which was a big reason her military career had been cut short.
Sabrine was a great employee though and one of the few people Deirdre trusted. She guessed that made Sabrine a friend. Deirdre wasn’t really sure. The concept of friendship came from television and that silly thing could never be trusted.
Deirdre drove through downtown then pulled in front of an anonymous brick building. On the outside, the place looked deserted, some shelter for the homeless to camp when they weren’t traveling. It was Hannah’s Gym that actually occupied the building and it was the best in town. There were some glossier establishments with chrome and big glass windows in front. Those places were frequented by soccer moms trying to get their waistlines back and the overly-built boys, growing muscle for show instead of function. Deirdre never cared for those places. She wasn’t there to socialize or shed an extra pound. She went to Hannah’s to train.
The morning air was comfortable but by noon the sun would broil anyone caught on the street only to shock them when evening came and the brisk autumn winds chilled people to the bone. There were several drawbacks to living so close to the beach, but she dealt with tourist traffic and heat, for the ocean, milder winters, and quiet peace she always hoped to find in that tumbling surf.
She got out of the car and walked up the concrete stairs to the door. It was glass with metal bars running down the front of it. During the day the area was great, but at night the worst of humanity seemed to lurk in the darkness, necessitating bars over the glass and customers staying out of the area after business hours. Well, Deirdre didn’t avoid anywhere, but then she wasn’t most people.
Magic Rising Page 3
